


Aca-Drabbles!

by carma19



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carma19/pseuds/carma19
Summary: Drabble #1 - POSSESSION[Prompt: Hey! 😊 so i was wondering if you're still accepting prompts?? I just want to request something about a very possesive Beca. If that's okay? 😘 and also, TTW is the best! I'm always waiting for the next update. Thanks in advance! ❤❤❤ ]After watching Chloe kiss Chicago, Beca Mitchell snapped.





	1. Possession [rated M]

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my collection of Bechloe drabbles. :D
> 
> Connect with me on Tumblr @ icarli. :D

Decorative scarves. Turtlenecks. Popped collars. 

Chloe’s hair was _always_ styled down lately. 

The tweak in Chloe’s dressing and styling routine wasn’t due to any fashion trend or weather-related concern--it was nearly summertime, after all, so thank god for summer scarves! No, Chloe’s sudden shift in her wardrobe selections wasn’t due to any sudden desire to change up her ‘look’. It was because of Beca.

Because three weeks ago, something happened after Beca watched Chloe kiss Chicago. 

Beca Mitchell snapped.

That same night, Beca had all but barged into Chloe’s hotel room flushed and furious, still flooded with pulse-pounding adrenaline from her live broadcasted performance.

Before Chloe knew what was happening, Beca’s hand braced her hip and shoved her up against the nearest wall, her other hand threading through Chloe’s gorgeous hair as she kissed her hard and hungry on the mouth fueled by _years_ of searing, pent-up desire. Beca’s tongue swept into her mouth and Chloe, still in shock, tried to keep up, giving as good as she got. By the time Chloe gripped the lapel of Beca’s leather jacket and leaned in to try to gain the upper-hand, Beca broke the kiss with a shuddering inhale, fingers tightening in Chloe’s hair and tugging her head to the side to expose the pale, smooth column of her neck. 

“ _Shit._ ” The breathy curse left Chloe’s lips in a reverent plea and her eyes fluttered closed. All she could do was breathe and cling, chest ready to burst with anticipation as Beca trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across her jawline and down.

Beca’s tongue swirled over its target, just over Chloe’s thundering pulsepoint. Her breath brushed hot over dampened skin as she pulled desperate gasps of air while she worked against the side of Chloe’s neck, lips latching over that spot as she expertly mashed-up utilization of her swollen lips, soothing tongue, and grazing sharp teeth, relentless in their common pursuit. 

Sudden heavy suction over that patch of skin stole Chloe’s breath, the resulting jolt flooding her body with scorching, liquid heat. There wasn’t much else Chloe could do other than cling desperately to Beca’s gold jacket, weak knees unsteady. 

“ _Mine._ ” Beca’s monosyllabic growl--the first word she’d uttered since she’d strode into Chloe’s room with single-minded purpose--elicited a shuddering whimper from the ginger.

Thank god for Beca pinning her to that wall because she was convinced she otherwise would’ve melted into a puddle right there. That single world suffused Chloe’s body and struck her to the core. Chicago _who_?

Beca continued her oral assault against Chloe’s neck, breathing a hot, firm second reminder against her overstimulated flesh. “You’re _mine_ , Chloe.” 

Realizing a delayed beat later that Beca wanted--needed--confirmation of her claim, Chloe’s head jerked and bobbed in a frantic nod as Beca’s ministrations simultaneously hurt and healed and filled Chloe with lust and hope. “I’m yours,” Chloe rasped, knowing her neck would absolutely be bruised to hell in the morning--hard, branding evidence of Beca’s stake. Knowing Aubrey would shoot her a disapproving glare upon seeing it. Knowing Stacie would offer a high-five. Knowing Amy would tease her relentlessly. Knowing they’d all assume the purple-blossomed hickey was from Chicago, and through all of the Bellas’ teasing, Beca would remain silent and stone-faced. 

Stone-faced but _pleased._

Once they returned back to NYC, in the precious weeks before Beca would leave for LA and Chloe would begin her graduate school program, their day-to-day lives remained the same as they both prepared to make massive life changes without the other. They couldn’t afford to have the big talk they needed to, both terrified they’d fuck things up during the last few weeks they would share as roommates. 

And so their days were the same, busy and light, the only difference in their interactions Chloe's fashionable attempts to keep her neck covered, but their nights on that shared pull-out bed looked _markedly_ different from before. And each morning, Chloe woke with a new colorful reminder that no matter what would happen during the daytime, at night, she was Beca’s. Sometimes Beca marked and re-marked her neck; other nights, she branded other strategic spots on Chloe’s body. Her hip. Her sternum. Her collarbone. The inside of her thigh. 

So yeah, Chloe let it happen. Chicago, Beca’s possessive reaction, the follow-up nights of branding and re-branding resulting in kiss-induced bruises, especially during their Saturday nights out where Chloe would flirt with other guys, dance up on them in the clubs and _feeling_ Beca’s blood boiling from a near distance. Knowing they’d crash back together in bed after, and Beca would remind her again. And again. And again. Knowing she’d need to cover up another branding mark the next day.

(And maybe, just maybe, that had been Chloe’s intention all along.)


	2. Chill or No Chill [Flufferoni, Rated G]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble #2: CHILL OR NO CHILL
> 
> [Prompt: my dude! are you still taking requests for prompts? what about chloe convincing a resistant beca to get one of those stupid fluffy kittens?]
> 
> Beca has the most perfect birthday surprise plan... which doesn't work out exactly how she hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my collection of Bechloe drabbles. :D
> 
> Connect with me on Tumblr @ icarli. :D

Admittedly, today hadn’t gone exactly as planned. 

The timing was perfect. After managing a long distance relationship for almost two years--the last six months of which saw Beca traveling around the country on her first tour--Beca was _finally_ home for good. She and Chloe settled into a modest brownstone in Brooklyn and Chloe hit the halfway mark through vet school. It also happened to be a week before Chloe’s birthday. So yeah, the timing was perfect. 

So was the original plan. That was perfect, too.

Because ever since their Barden days, and ever since they lived together in that tiny apartment for three years, Chloe had often (and loudly) lamented about not being able to have a kitten. Unfortunately for Chloe, their space was entirely too small in the apartment they shared with Amy, and Aubrey--whom Chloe moved in with after the USO tour--was severely allergic to cats. Beca, due to a traumatic scratching incident when she was six (and maintains the battle scar on her thigh to prove it), had never been a fan of cats. But she did her research and made detailed plans to adopt a surprise kitten for Chloe. 

Because Beca loved Chloe. And Chloe loved kittens. Therefore, Beca would do her best to learn to love a kitten, too.

Beca truly thought _Operation: Surprise Chloe with the Perfect Kitten for her Birthday_ would be a no-brainer success. She’d done all of her research, after all, and hit up the pet supply place beforehand, leaving with a cat carrier, kitten food, litter and a litter box, and, of course, treats and toys. She’d also been mentally preparing for kitten mom life since the idea sparked toward the beginning of her tour. So there was no doubt in her mind this would be the best surprise ever.

Until she got to the breeder. 

Two hours later, after waffling over options and signing her life away in creature adoption papers, Beca returned home in the back of a Lyft cradling her new shivering little buddy wrapped in a towel in her arms. 

“It’s gonna be okay, little dude,” Beca muttered, dropping a quick kiss to its fuzzy head. The animal should’ve been in the kitten carrier--which sat next to Beca on the backseat, filled with supplies. 

It took some careful maneuvering, but Beca managed to keep the bundle tight to her chest while lugging the supply crate up the steps, setting it down so she could fish her keys out of her pocket. Finally, she pushed the door open and closed it behind her with the heel of her boot before setting the kitten carrier down as quietly as she could manage. 

“Beca?” Chloe hurried down the stairs before Beca could brace herself. Fresh from a shower clad in drawstring pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt, she drew to a stop a few steps from the landing once she spotted her girlfriend looking a little… panicked. “Becs?” Wide bright blue eyes flickered to the kitten carrier and then to the bundle in Beca’s arms, still hidden inside the messily bunched up towel. Still shivering. 

Beca swore she was shivering, too, a nervous grin pulling on her lips. “Okay, so… hear me out.” 

Chloe tiptoed down the last few steps, wonder and curiosity alight in her eyes. 

“So… I got to the breeder, and there were, like, a million fuzzball kittens all playing in this cage, right? And I thought--no sweat, I’ll just pick one to adopt, no big deal. But then--I saw _this little guy_ across the room in a cage all by himself, and he just… he looked so damn sad and lonely…”

As if on cue, the baby chinchilla peeked his head up from the top of the towel, snout twitching furiously as he took in the scent of Beca and Chloe’s townhome. 

“--and I asked the breeder what was up with that fuzzy cuter-version-of-a-hamster dude in the cage, and she told me all about chinchillas and how they actually make great pets if you treat them very carefully and give ‘em a lot of love when they’re babies because they’re small and fragile and skittish and they’ll bite if you squeeze ‘em too hard--”

“Gosh, why does that sound adorably familiar?” Chloe teased, tears stinging her eyes as a serene smile played on her lips.

Beca rolled her eyes, letting out a chuckle once Chloe didn’t seem immediately disappointed. “And they have really long lifespans, and for rodents, they don’t smell. They’re hella chewy but we can--” She paused when Chloe’s smile twisted into one of great amusement. “Oh. You know all of this information already.”

“I’m not Half-Dr. B. for nothin’, am I?” Chloe tossed Beca a wink. 

Beca laughed more fully. “Soooo... can we keep him?”

Chloe shot Beca a look that read _’Duh, Beca’_. “Of course we can keep him. What’s his name?” 

“Um. Chilla,” Beca said with a shrug. “We can change it if you want? I mean, he’s so chill, ya know. A chillin’ chinchilla. It fits.”

“Chilla Mitchell Beale.” Chloe reached out and let Chilla sniff her hand before she gently ran her fingers through the soft fur atop his head. “Welcome to the family, baby.” She redirected her focus on Beca after a few seconds and scrunched up her nose, batting her eyelashes for good measure. “I still really want a kitten, Becs.”

Beca huffed a chuckle. “Yeah, I figured you would,” she said. “So I told the breeder we’d be back tomorrow so you could pick out your own. There were too many damn choices and I got overwhelmed.”


	3. One More [rated M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble #3: ONE MORE
> 
> [Prompt: Beca’s a 30 something rockstar/producer-turned-filthy rich music mogul. She has everything she’s ever wanted, except for the one that got away.]

As morning light peeked through the purposefully paper thin crack of pleated european blackout curtains, Beca stirred. She shifted and winced, naked beneath her expensive-as-fuck black silky Porthault sheets. Her body bore marks--bruises and scratches--along with achy muscles, evidence of a night well spent. She reached to her bedside table and flicked the switch that powered the curtains to draw themselves open more fully, allowing more natural light to pour into the elegant bedroom, reflecting off the crystal chandelier that hung over her king-sized four poster. 

Beside her, last night’s entertainment stirred, whimpering in protest as she buried her face in Beca’s pillows, ginger curls wildly splayed over the pillowcase.

“Hey,” Beca said, turning to face her. She reached over to savor the sight of the gorgeous escort she’d summoned last night to warm her bed and temporarily trick her heart. Beca allowed herself to trace her fingertips along the length of her spine, savoring the softness of the skin beneath her touch and the toned back muscles arching up into her. Reacting. With her face mashed into the pillow, she almost… almost looked like--

“Hmm?” The redhead yawned and turned to peek at Beca from her pillow, a sated smile pulling on her face. The wrong face. Too many freckles, the bridge of her nose too wide. Eyes more green than blue. “G’morning, Beca.” The voice sounded all wrong. It had been okay--good, even--as raspy, pleading whispers in the pitch darkness with music pulsing through the room to distort the sound. 

This chick was better than most of the others. She was good, last night. Convincing. 

Mornings after always proved cruel. 

“So what happened to your real Chloe?” 

Beca bristled, wrenching away from the stranger. “I fucking told you not to use that name again,” she growled, turning her back on her. She tugged open her bedside table drawer with more force than necessary, pulling out the sealed manila envelope she’d prepared in advance, stuffed with several hundred dollar bills. (More than she agreed to pay, but that was gifted due to the heavy pool of guilt than actual generosity.) Beca tossed it onto the bed; it hit the sheet by the woman’s thigh, and Beca swung her legs over the side of her bed, gripping hard at the edge of the mattress with both hands, hanging her head. “You can see yourself out.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the wrong face again. Not wanting to hear the wrong voice speak again.

“I’m sorry, baby.” The nameless woman crawled across the mattress and draped herself over Beca’s back, peppering her bare, tattooed shoulder with soft kisses. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Beca opened her eyes and, out of her periphery, watched the woman’s gorgeous red hair--the reason she’d selected her in the first place--fall in a curtain over her own shoulder. Her heart wrenched as sudden hot rawness prickled and burned her steely eyes. Swallowing back the emotion, blinking back the tears and refusing to let them fall, she reached up with a shaky hand to twirl those achingly familiar red tendrils around her fingers. 

“I let her go.” Beca’s admission came in a whisper, colored with shame and despair. It had been fifteen years and Beca couldn’t forget. Couldn’t move on. She had everything she could ever want, otherwise--her own musical empire, an army of Grammys, a family of established and budding artists under her wing, more wealth and prestige than she knew what the fuck to do with--but she’d give them all up, give everything up in a heartbeat if it meant she could travel back through time and right the wrongs she’d made. 

“Let me make it up to you,” the woman whispered, her tongue tracing the outer shell of Beca’s ear. “I don’t want to leave you all worked up like this, baby. Please.” 

The whispered plea combined with the ginger curls threading through her fingers resparked the fantasy and she took in a shaky breath, considering. “I…”

“C’mon, Becs,” she husked, taking Beca’s earlobe between her teeth. God, she was good. She remembered the nickname. “One more.” 

Beca whimpered. She felt the woman’s hand slip over her hip and between her legs, fingertips inching up her inner thigh. With a trembling free hand, Beca reached for the switch and flicked it back, her curtains electronically drawing closed to once again darken the bedroom to mostly shadows. 

“Good girl,” the escort purred as Beca relaxed against her, fingers trailing upward to lazily stroke through her folds. 

“Fuck,” Beca choked, slamming her eyes shut as a tear slipped free, falling hot and thick down her cheek.

The whisper in her ear was barely there. Perfectly disguised. “What do you want, Becs?”

“More.” Beca’s plea rang desperate, coated with decades of lustful longing as her grip tightened in those almost perfect ginger locks. “More, please. Please, Chlo…” 

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you,” she whispered, trailing her kisses up the side of Beca’s neck. “I’m here, Beca.”

Beca gritted her teeth and fought the demons that always swirled and attacked--the grief, the doubt, the burning shame and stabbing regret. Arousal coursed through her at the touch--Chloe’s touch--and she succumbed to the twisted fantasy once more.


	4. One More - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Beca’s a 30-something rockstar/producer turned filthy rich music mogul. She has everything she’s ever wanted, except for the one that got away.
> 
> [ Recommended you read One More - Part I the chapter before this first! ]

Chloe Walp flitted down the spiral staircase lined with wrought-iron spindles in an only mildly frazzled state, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at her in her new floral sundress, cardigan and wedges, red hair in a gentle curl sweeping just below her shoulders and makeup painted to perfection. Her picturesque suburban home bustled with hired help for the day--caterers, a DJ and emcee, and the folks finishing up their job erecting the massive white party tent in their fenced in backyard. 

“You guuuys!” she called in her ever-present sing-song voice. “Thirty-one minutes ‘til it’s paaaarty time!” She swept through the kitchen toward the family room and paused in the entryway, leaning against the white column and taking in the scene. Oliver Walp stretched out on the recliner in his fitted khakis, button-down shirt and skinny tie, new (expensive) high tops and a snapback hat sitting purposefully askew on his head, shaggy red hair sticking out the bottom. He scrolled mindlessly through his phone.

Chloe crossed the space and lifted the flat brim of Ollie’s hat, pressing a kiss to her eldest’s cheek. “Are you super stoked for your big birthday bash or what??”

“Mom, please,” Ollie grumbled, wiping his cheek and readjusting his hat. “Yeah, I guess. Don’t say super stoked though. This isn’t 2009.”

Chloe scoffed. “Well _someone_ could do with toning down the sixteen-year-old attitude for a few hours. Or at least save the Mr. Too-Cool-For-School act for when your friends get here.” Her gaze trailed toward her two middle children huddled together on the adjacent couch and sharing a pair of earbuds as they studied their iPad with extreme focus. Twelve-year-old Emery with darker hair and bright blue eyes, and nine-year-old Nathan with the same coloring, each wearing party clothes selected that morning. “What are you two troublemakers up to?” she asked, taking a seat on the opposite couch beside her gingery five year old, Lily, whose tongue stuck out between her teeth in deep concentration as she diligently colored a page of her superhero coloring book. Chloe dropped a kiss to her youngest’s head and adjusted her unicorn headband. 

“We’re watching you, Ma!” Nathan said, twisting the iPad around. 

Ever since Emery got her hands on an iPad for her twelfth birthday, she’d been obsessed with looking up acapella videos, already determined to become a Bella. (Chloe didn’t have the heart to tell her she pretty much had an automatic in as a legacy, her enthusiasm and dedication to the musical art was too adorable.)

“They haven’t stopped watching that acapella crap all day. It’s so annoying,” Ollie mumbled. 

“You like it too, Oliver!” Emery shot back, taking a throw pillow and tossing it at her big brother. 

Chloe blinked, her lips twisting with wry amusement. “We’ll circle back to you calling acapella _crap_ later, Oliver Benjamin. Let’s not argue before we have sixty-five guests set to arrive. Which one are you watching, sweetie?” 

“We’re tryna learn the claps,” Nathan explained while his sister tapped the buttons to cast the YouTube video onto their massive flat screen TV. 

Chloe sucked in a sharp breath through her nose at the sight of herself, over a decade and a half ago, standing front and center during the Bellas winning Worlds performance in Copenhagen. “Oh, wow…” she breathed, swallowing the lump in her throat as powerful memories flooded her system. 

“There’s Aunt Stacie!” Nathan cried, pointing to the screen.

“And Aunt Cynthia Rose! With Aunt Flo!” Little Lily’s eyes lit up, her Spiderman coloring page forgotten. 

“Aunt Amy! Aunt Emily!” Nathan kept up. “Where’s Aunt Bree?”

“She doesn’t come on stage ‘til later, remember?” Emery reminded him. 

Oliver sighed, reaching for his Beats and shoving them over his ears, cranking his music--his and every other 16-year-old’s favorite R&B artist in the world, Trey-Jay Diggz. 

“Who’s clappin’ hands with you, Mama?” Lily asked, leaning into Chloe.

She’d braced herself, knowing the question was bound to come from one of her kids. “That’s Beca,” she said softly, giving her daughter’s arm a soft squeeze. 

“So… Aunt Beca?” Nathan asked, his head tilted to the side as his little brow furrowed with confusion. 

“No, she’s not--I mean--” Chloe let out a soft, decompressing chuckle. “You don’t have to call her Aunt Beca just because she was a Bella like your other aunties. Beca’s a singer--was a--well, now she’s very famous and helps other singers win Grammys and stuff…” 

“Can you teach us the claps??” Nathan popped up from his couch spot and bounced in front of the TV.

“Sure, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure I’ll never forget that choreography…” Chloe smoothed out Lily’s hair and stood while Emery rewound the clip. “Now we’ve got claps, snaps, and pats. How’s your snapping, Nate? Can you--”

A loud thunk echoed from the floor above and Chloe’s heart sank; her face fell for a nanosecond before she immediately recalibrated her features into a calm smile. “We’re gonna have to raincheck on the choreo class, bud.” She took Nathan’s freckle-dusted cheeks in her hands and dropped a kiss to his forehead, glancing up to catch Ollie’s expression, suddenly sullen and dark. He curled up in the chair, mumbling under his breath. 

“Did someone say they needed Bellas choreo help?” 

“Aunt Bree!” Nathan, Emery, and Lily rushed over to tackle their godmother. Oliver pushed up from the chair slowly but left his headphones on, forcing a weak smile before pulling Aunt Aubrey into a hug.

“Hey there, birthday boy,” she said, grinning up at him and squeezing his shoulder. “I peeked out back. The set-up looks aca-awesome.” 

Oliver’s head bobbed in a sullen nod. 

Chloe took his hand and tugged him aside. “Baby, it’s gonna be okay,” she reassured him, forcing her best sunny smile as she reached up to cup her son’s cheek. 

“He’s not gonna come down,” Ollie grumbled. “Whatever, s’fine.” 

“He will,” Chloe insisted. “I’ll go make sure of it, okay? Leave it all to me. You’re gonna have the best birthday no matter what.” With one last reassuring grin, Chloe hurried out of the family room through the kitchen, snagging a large bottle of water and running back up the stairs toward the sound of the noise. She hesitated before knocking twice on the guest room door, urging it open and peeking her head inside. “Chicago?” 

No response.

She sighed, slipping inside the room and closing the door behind her, squinting in the relative darkness. “Chicago, wake up.” She crossed the room and tugged the curtains open, illuminating the room with natural sunshine. The empty fifth of vodka lay on the area rug beside the bed--that must’ve been the noise they heard from downstairs.

Chicago groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “Go ‘way, Chlo.” 

“I can’t today, honey.” She moved to sit on the side of the bed, stroking her husband’s bare back. Once firm muscles turned soft long ago, and she raked her hand through his thinning, greasy hair. “Today’s Ollie’s sixteenth birthday, remember? And I’m gonna need you to get up for me. Take a shower. If not for me, then for the kids. This is a big day.” 

Chicago heaved a heavy sigh, exhaling morning breath reeking of booze. His eyes were bloodshot and baggy beneath, and he desperately needed a shave, too. “Can’t do it today. Tell him I’ll make it up to him. Promise.”

 _Promise_. He’d always promised. He promised he’d go back to rehab. He promised he’d stop drinking. He promised so many things for so long now, that word lost its meaning for Chloe. For Oliver. And soon, the other kids would catch on, too. 

Chloe gritted her teeth, smoothing out her dress over her knees. “What if I draw you a bath? Will you wash up there? I could bring your toothbrush to the bed. I brought you a bottle of water--”

“Please,” Chicago grunted. “He won’t notice m’there anyway, with the party and his friends. Tell him I’ll get him a car. Teach him to drive. We’ll do all that together.” He turned his back to Chloe and pulled the blanket back over his head. 

Chloe was too tired to argue, but this wasn’t for her--this was for their son’s biggest birthday. So she stayed. She stayed and tried her damndest, and when the doorbell rang twenty minutes later, she finally had to give up. 

Descending the stairs, she met Aubrey by the bottom of the staircase.

Her best friend glanced up the stairs, a knowing frown set into her features. “Not a good day?”

Chloe forced a wobbly grin. “It’ll be a good day no matter what. It has to be.” 

Steeling herself, Chloe returned to the living room where Stacie, Cynthia Rose, and Amy stood with her kids in the living room, trying to teach (and re-teach, in Amy’s case) the Worlds choreo to Nathan and Emery and Lily, who’d spent most of the time giggling at Aunt Amy’s antics. 

Oliver took one look at Chloe from his recliner, his blue eyes shining hopeful at his mom and, in the next beat, his face fell, gaze locking back onto his phone and his music. 

Chloe knew Ollie wouldn’t want that sort of attention drawn to him now, not with his aunts in the room and the doorbell ringing with more guests, so she made a mental note to have a long talk with him later--while doing everything in her power to make sure Ollie had the best birthday party ever, with or without his father present. 

Ollie’s friends arrived in their semi-formal partywear and the DJ and emcee played top 40s in the dancing tent, while Chloe did her best to mask the disappointment she felt on her son’s behalf, entertaining family and friends and neighbors congregating inside the house and on the back porch. Every so often, Chloe found her son in the thick of his friends, dancing and laughing, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes; he kept looking toward the house, hoping to spot his father, and it broke Chloe’s heart every damn time. 

Two hours into the party, all of the RSVP’d guests arrived. So when the doorbell rang once more, confusion crossed Chloe’s features as she bustled back toward her front door with her red sangria in hand. She pulled the door open to find… two black Escalades parked out front. 

“Are you Mrs. Walp?” A short, bulky man wearing aviators and an earpiece stood outside, his hands folded in front.

“I--yes?” She blinked. “What’s going on?”

“A special delivery for Mr. Oliver Walp, ma’am. As requested by a--” He pulled the card from his pocket, lifting his glasses to read the name. “Ms. Aubrey Posen.” 

“Delivery? But she didn’t mention--” Chloe cut herself off as the unmistakable Trey-Jay Diggz climbed out of the limo in a purple velour sweatsuit, swaggering up to the front step and flashing a gold-toothed smile at her.

“‘Sup, lil mama?” He nodded down at Chloe.

“Oh my god…” Chloe let out a disbelieving puff of laughter, her hand flying to her mouth for a moment to compose herself. She’d just watched this guy earn Album of the Year on the Grammy’s--watched him perform live on SNL--bought his latest album for Ollie at midnight on release day because he couldn’t wait until morning to buy it. “Aubrey didn’t say--she didn’t mention--you’re here to _perform_?? For my son??” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the shorter bodyguard said with a nod. “One set, then we’re off to Miami.” 

“Wha--yes, of--of course… Thank you! Thank you so much for coming, oh my god!” Still stunned, she blinked up at the the twenty-something rap-singer, in awe of his star-powered presence. Seriously. He had to be the most in-demand performer in the world right now, and here he was, on her front porch.

“Ma’am? Can we come in?”

“Oh, yes! I’m so sorry, follow me!” Her free hand flailed as she waved them inside--Trey-Jay Diggz and his team of six people (some security, some tech), leading them through the house and out the backdoor. 

One of the tech guys handed Trey-Jay a wireless mic, and the platinum-selling grammy winner didn’t hesitate, palming the mic around its head and bringing it up to his lips as he entered the party tent. “Yo DJ--cut the music!” The party DJ obliged, peering around the makeshift stage curtain to find the source of the sound. 

A collective shocked gasp echoed in the tent as the teens all blinked wide-eyed at the mega star, and then a wail of shrieks and cries boomed through the tent (and probably the entire neighborhood). 

“Where’s Ollie Walp??” Everyone pointed to the birthday boy, and Trey-Jay headed straight for him. “I hear today’s a big damn deal for you, my man!” Trey-Jay found the stunned Oliver standing in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his face completely drained of color. Beyond stunned. Trey-Jay pulled one of the golden chains off his neck and draped it around Ollie’s before handing him a mic. “Happy birthday. Let’s kick this set off together.”

Trey-Jay launched into one of his more popular rap songs, his own sound guys taking over to blare the backing track as he encouraged Ollie to sing along with him. 

Chloe stood by the tent’s opening, tears streaking down her cheeks at the sight of her oldest son looking happier than she’d seen him in years, beaming brighter than the sun as he sang along with his idol. 

Aubrey moved to stand beside Chloe, smiling at her godson as she looked on, too.

“I can’t believe you pulled this off. How--”

“I didn’t,” Aubrey confessed, casting Chloe a semi-guilty look. “It wasn’t me. Not really. Not _this_.”

Chloe slow-blinked. “Bree?”

“She wouldn’t take my calls, so I wrote her a letter and dropped it off with her label’s receptionist. I didn’t think she’d actually give it to her…”

“Bree,” Chloe sniffed and reached up with her knuckle to brush a tear that slipped free. “What did you even--did you tell her about--”

“I didn’t give her any details. I only said your son was a massive Trey-Jay fan and since he’s on her label, asked if she could maybe send us a signed picture that’d make his birthday extra special. I never imagined…”

Chloe’s head jerked upward with an understanding nod and she leaned into Aubrey, letting out a choked sob--a wretched noise somewhere between a strangled laugh and an ugly cry--watching her son, who’d emotionally struggled all year and probably longer than that, now having the absolute time of his life, his dreams coming true on his sixteenth birthday. Not thanks to her, or Chicago, or Aunt Aubrey’s letter.

Thanks to Beca.


	5. Ice, Ice, Baby [rated G]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bechloe + Hockey

Kommissar--Germany’s ruthless and skilled team captain--reared back and flung a deadly wrist shot toward Team USA’s goal.

The puck grazed the post with a merciful ding and hopped over the plexiglass and out of play.

“Ha!” Fat Amy cried as the ref blew the whistle, pushing up her goalie mask and reaching for her water bottle. “Told you krauts you ought to stick to lifeguarding!” 

Stacie skidded to a sharp stop beside her. “Just because David Hasselhoff starred in Baywatch doesn’t mean all of Germany can--”

“Okay, guys, huddle up!” Chloe, defensive Captain for Team USA, called for a time out and waved her teammates in. The red, white, and blue jerseys clustered by their own goal as Chloe pointed up to the scoreboard with her stick. “See that? Twenty seconds left.” And the score remained 3-3 throughout the extra overtime period. 

Aubrey nodded. “We should play smart. Defensively,” she said. “Take the tie to the buzzer then destroy them in a shoot-out.”

“Hell yeah! We’ll kick their asses in a damn shoot-out.” Cynthia Rose agreed, nodding sagely.

“No.” Beca cut them off, cutting a glance across the huddle to Chloe. They shared a look behind their helmet cages--steely gray-blue eyes meeting brighter blues--once again communicating without words.

After a beat, Chloe brightened and nodded.

“Let’s win this thing right here, right now.” Beca looked to Aubrey, who opened her mouth to argue but effectively closed her mouth--Beca had led carried their team farther than she had as Captain, and she learned to choose her battles wisely. Especially now, when they had the chance to skate off the ice with gold medals around their necks. “Here’s the play. I’m gonna need some help from the Slam Sisters.” 

Stacie and Aubrey stood taller, snapping their attention to Beca with matching salutes. As their two most intimidating players, they’d earned their reputation for never shying away from a hit on the ice. 

And with Germany’s bigger, bulkier women, Team USA needed them more than ever. 

They leaned in and Beca delivered the play call. “Hands in,” she called. “One, two, three….”

The offensive line, two defenders, and goalie cried out in unison. _“USA, All The Way!”_

The ref’s whistle blew once more and Beca skated to center ice, her eyes flickering to Kommissar’s Captain’s patch, one that matched her own. The honor she shared with Chloe. Her mind flashed back to all they’d been through as a team--finding their rhythm, their style, their strength both individually and as one. 

“You think you can beat us, tiny maus?” Kommissar taunted, a smirk spreading around her mouthguard. 

“I know we can,” Beca shot back, popping her mouthguard over her teeth and lowering her stick to hover over the ice.

Kommissar leaned down into ready position. 

“Let’s finish this game off cleanly, ladies,” the referee said, glancing left and right to make sure both teams stood in position before he dropped the puck. 

Beca lunged forward, throwing her whole body weight into Kommissar and kicking the puck back toward Cynthia Rose. 

Flo, Lilly, Emily, Ashley, Jessica, and the rest of the team cheered from the bench once they’d acquired possession of the puck. 

“Fifteen seconds!” cried Emily from the bench. 

Cynthia Rose skated forward with her head up, passing the puck to Stacie, who dodged a German player and backhanded her pass to Aubrey. Aubrey faked a shot and surged forward, dropping the pass back to Chloe.

“Eight seconds!” Flo called. 

Chloe settled the puck at Germany’s blue line, eyes trained on the goal.

Stacie, Cynthia Rose, and Aubrey all tied up German players--

\--except Kommissar, who’d found her footing quicker than Beca anticipated and charged at Chloe from behind. 

“Four seconds!” Ashley yelled.

Aubrey slammed her stick on the ice, struggling to keep one of the larger Germans tangled up. “Chloe, take the shot!” 

Kommissar raced at Chloe with her head down and reared back with her stick as though it were a baseball bat, clearly willing to take a major slashing penalty if it meant Chloe not getting her shot off. She growled around her mouthguard and swung at Chloe--

_Boom!_

Beca intercepted Kommissar with her diving body, the two of them toppling to the ice together in a grunting crash of limbs, sticks, and skates. 

_Crack!_

Chloe’s slapshot whizzed between tied up defenders, sailing over the shoulder of Germany’s goalie--and hitting the back of the net at the buzzer. 

The siren over the goal flashed to life, blaring its alarm to signify the goal. The announcer’s voice carried over the wall of sound--cries and cheer and deafening applause--from the stadium spectators.

_“GOOOOOAAAAL! IT’S A BUZZER-BEATING GOAL BY CAPTAIN CHLOE BEALE! TEAM USA WINS GOLD! TEAM USA WINS!!!”_

As the German team sulked back to their locker room with their heads hung, Team USA ripped their helmets off and rushed at Chloe, those on the bench climbing over to skate-run into the group hug. 

All except Beca.

Still shaken from her self-sacrificing hit, the offensive captain groaned and winced as she struggled back to her skates.

“Get your ass up, short stack!” Cynthia Rose flew to her side and took her elbow to assist.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Beca muttered, yanking her helmet off in time for a beaming Chloe to break from the crowd and throw her arms around her. “Oof! Watch it, Beale--I might’ve broken a rib or two--”

But Beca couldn’t finish her warning because Chloe sealed her mouth over hers for their first very public kiss, their teammates enthusiastically responding with celebratory wolf-whistles and raucous cheers all around them. When they broke for air, their cheeks blazed. 

Beca cleared her throat, suddenly grateful for their close bubble at center ice with chaotic celebrations exploding around them. It was easy to ignore the deep ache in her side with Chloe holding her around the middle and looking at her like that. “Hell of a shot, by the way.” 

Chloe grinned, shrugging sheepishly. “Couldn’t have gotten it off if it wasn’t for you.” 

A smirk pulled on Beca’s lips. “That’s what she said.” 

Chloe rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh my god, Bec. You’re such a--”

Beca shut Chloe up with a searing kiss this time, lingering with promise of a rematch in private.

“Okay, lover girls. Break it up,” Aubrey declared, tugging at Chloe’s jersey and nodding toward the podium the olympic committee quickly erected down ice. “It’s time for our gold medal ceremony.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Beca cried, and when Amy handed her the American flag, she offered the pole to Chloe so they could hoist it high together--as best friends, co-captains, not-so-secret girlfriends, and now... 

World champions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me on Tumblr @ brattybeca :D


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